I was twenty two years old when I was hired to teach middle school English. I signed a contract that year for $19,500 and immediately went out to buy a new car to replace my clunker, the one with the clutch that spontaneously slipped out of gear, sometimes on the highway. My new post meant I had safe transport, my own apartment, and a job that I loved. Each day I woke up, often before my alarm, to get ready for this new work of mine. I couldn’t wait to get back to the classroom, a space I was allowed to arrange and decorate any way I wanted. I drove in early each day to do last minute preparation for the lessons I’d planned. Lessons that included games and music and dancing and coloring and food and lots of discussion. Finally, I couldn’t wait to see all my new teacher friends; they were so encouraging, so smart, and, best of all, they made me laugh with all their stories and advice. Truth be told, I so adored this new classroom, my students, my fellow teachers, and the creative work of teaching, I would have done it for free.
Now over twenty five years later, much has changed. The school building and my classroom is a bit tired after years of use with no upgrades or money for new carpet, a fresh coat of paint, or new chairs to replace the ones with cracked seats. Most of those teaching friends have retired, leaving me with their best wishes and stock-piled construction paper. And, most markedly, the creative autonomy that made the work of teaching so rich for my artist’s heart has been dramatically stifled by the adoption of Common Core and the desire for everyone to be “on the same page.” Despite all of these changes, I do still get excited to do the work of teaching. So what keeps me fulfilled even still? It’s the open gratitude. The impact I know I’m having on others because they tell me so.
This week at school our student council recognized the Teacher Appreciation Week with all sorts of fun extras. We had a taco bar for lunch, a travel coffee mug gifted to each of us, bagels in the morning, and candy surprises each day. In addition to these sweet treats, some of my students caught the “appreciation fever,” and reached out in their own ways. On Monday morning I walked in to find a gift bag filled with all my favorite candy and the sweetest note written by a quiet young lady in my 1st hour–a note I’ll keep forever. Later in the week, before school even started, another 7th grader rushed toward me, arms outstretched, presenting me with a paper plate covered in aluminum foil. I took the plate and said, “For me? What’s this?” It was then that I noticed the bottom of the paper plate was warm. She peeled the foil back and revealed oatmeal raisin cookies. “I got up extra early, so I could bake these cookies for you and bring them in hot out of the oven.” Another 7th grade boy shared a Google Doc–a poem in my honor! Who wouldn’t love a poem that starts like this…
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Mrs. Laaksonen is great,
And she´ll help you.
And then there was this moment I will hold in my heart forever. This truly brilliant former student of mine stopped by at the end of the week. She had just moved to Vicksburg when I had her as a student two years ago. She is a little quirky, extremely scattered, papers literally spilling out of her binder at all times, and she is absolutely brilliant. So this past week, she stops by my classroom on Friday. She’s an 8th grader now, and she spends most of her day in the Academically Talented Youth Program. I don’t see her as often, so when she walked in I was pleased just to have her visit. She plopped her bulging backpack on top of the desk, straightened herself out, and cleared her throat. I realized she had something important to say. I stopped straightening the room, faced her fully, and she starts, “Mrs. Laaksonen, I wanted to say thank you for being my friend when no one else really wanted to be.” I wrapped her in a hug and say jokingly to keep myself from completely losing it, “Of course, and, just so you know, I have very discerning taste when it comes to my friends.”
These teacher appreciation moments are the mainstay of this profession. Kids are so honest and open about how you’ve helped them; they do notice how hard you work. Sure, the politicians sling mud at our profession and rage about the need for accountability through more standardized testing and harsh teacher evaluation practices, but those we serve, the parents and children, let us know everyday that they understand we are working hard on their behalf and it’s appreciated.
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